


Beginnings

by melissaeverdeen13



Category: Pitch Perfect (Movies)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-06
Updated: 2019-04-08
Packaged: 2019-06-22 22:44:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15592431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melissaeverdeen13/pseuds/melissaeverdeen13
Summary: Beca and Jesse run into a very unexpected surprise. But sometimes, those are the best kind.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time writing Jeca... hope you guys like it!! Review if you read, please! I really appreciate feedback :)

“I swear to god,” I say, tipping my face up to look at him. “If you don’t get in that car, the taxi guy is gonna leave. With all your stuff in the trunk. Think about how much that’s gonna suck.” 

“Aw…” Jesse says, reaching to tuck a piece of hair behind my ear. “Guess I’ll just have to wear your pajamas and tiny t-shirts then. Do you think they’ll look good on me?”

“I’m gonna kill you,” I say, fighting a smile. 

“Then I’ll definitely be stuck here.” 

“Dude, you have to go!” I say, laughing. “It’s almost 3. What’s that thing about men getting to airports freakishly early? Why aren’t you doing that right now?” 

He sighs dramatically. “‘Cause I’m staring at your face. And that’s making it really, really hard to leave.” 

I roll my eyes. “You have about a thousand pictures on your camera roll, Skype exists, and I’ll be there in three months. You will be fine.” 

“Damn,” he says. “Now I feel like Old Yeller, or something.” 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

He smirks and kisses me quick. “Of course you don’t,” he says. “Alright, fine. I’m leaving, I’m going, I’m disappearing forever. I love you.” 

“I love you, too,” I say, spinning him by the shoulders so he faces the taxi. “Now, if you don’t get in that car, I might.” 

We kiss one last time before he gets inside, and I walk around to the window that he’s rolled down. “Should I sing to you, for old time’s sake?” he asks. 

“No!” I say, laughing. I tap the hood of the car and the driver accelerates and starts driving away. 

Before they can get too far, Jesse pops his head out of the window and waves at me, a wide grin plastered on his face. “I’ll miss you!” he shouts. 

“Uh-huh!” I shout, then wave back with just as much gusto. 

After the taxi disappears from view, I stand in front of Jesse’s apartment for a while and stare at the spot it had been in. A heavy feeling makes itself known in my gut, but I will it away. I’m fine. We’ll be fine. I’ll be joining him in LA in three months, after I finish up a few things at my internship. Those months will fly by; and anyway, I can handle life just fine without my boyfriend at my side. I survived 18 years living the single life. Not like I’ll be doing it again - I’ll still have him, just from a distance. 

I’m not the needy one between us. So, I don’t know why I feel like I’m about to cry. In the days leading up to our goodbye, he told me over and over again that he knew I wouldn’t cry while I was in front of him. I’d wait until the taxi pulled away, headed to the airport, then lie in bed playing The Breakfast Club soundtrack while hugging one of his sweatshirts. Every single time he brought it up, which was a lot, I’d flash my signature eye-roll and smack him. Call him some stupid name, tell him he was cheesy. But now, I realize he might not have been too far off. He probably isn’t even five miles away yet, and I already miss him. 

This isn’t me, though. I’m not sappy like this. Chloe would tell me that I’m allowed to have feelings, it’s normal to miss my freaking boyfriend, but it’s still not me. I don’t wear my emotions on my sleeve. I let them pass through my brain once every blue moon, if they’re lucky. So, the fact that all my feelings are swirling around and taking complete control is beyond unsettling. 

When I get home, Amy meets me right at the door. “So, how’d it go?” she asks. “Did he cry? Please, tell me he cried and you got footage of it.” 

I blink rapidly to try and keep my own tears at bay. If she sees me crying, I’ll never live it down. She’ll try and comfort me in her weird way, and I won’t get a moment’s peace for the rest of the night, maybe the rest of the week. I love her, but her soothing methods are not on the top of my list right now. 

“He didn’t cry,” I say, and accidentally sniffle.

“Are  _ you _ crying?” she asks. 

“No,” I say. “Just… not now, Amy, okay? I’m not in the mood.” 

“Okay, I get it, I get it,” she says, but still doesn’t leave my personal bubble. “Are you sick?” she asks. 

“I’m not sick,” I say. “People can sniffle. It’s allowed.” 

“No, not that,” she says, still surveying me. “It’s something else about you. It’s just… you didn’t happen to come across something radioactive today, did you?” 

“What? No,” I say, screwing up my eyebrows. 

“But it’s something…” she says. 

“I’m not exactly in the greatest mood,” I say. “So, I’m just gonna go to bed, I think.”

“It’s 3 in the afternoon!” she shouts, calling after me as I head down the hall.

“Even better!” I call back, then shut the door behind me. 

…

The next day, I’m sitting at my desk when the entire room starts to tilt. I blink hard and hold my head, feeling so woozy all of a sudden that I barely know how to handle it. I take some deep breaths and open my eyes again, but it doesn’t go away. I’m lightheaded, weak in the knees, and I need to get to a bathroom stat. 

I push my chair back roughly, catching the attention of a few coworkers, then power-walk to the bathroom. I lock myself in a stall and drop to my knees, arms wrapped around the toilet bowl. I know it’s probably filthy, but I can’t find it within myself to care when everything I had for lunch is about to make a second appearance. 

I can’t remember the last time I threw up; it’s been years. But after a few minutes of being in the bathroom, I can’t say that anymore. The orange chicken and rice I had for lunch along with the bagel for breakfast definitely didn’t look as good during round two. 

I wipe my mouth and stare at myself in the mirror, noticing my pallid skin tone and sunken eyes. Maybe I am getting sick. Even I can see the exhaustion, and that’s not usually something I notice. Amy was right. Something is definitely off, but I can’t tell what. I come to the conclusion, after a few long minutes of staring, that it’s probably the flu. 

So, I find my boss and he gives me a look of disgust. “Did you just blow chunks all over that bathroom?” he asks. 

I sigh. “I cleaned it up. Nothing got anywhere, but yeah. I did.” 

“Home,” he says, pointing to the door after putting his shades on. “Contagious. Home. Now, please.” 

I take that as my cue to leave, so I gather my things and get out of there. In the car, I squeeze the steering wheel and close my eyes at a red light as a wave of exhaustion hits me. I don’t know if I’ve ever been so tired in my life, even though I didn’t do anything particularly straining today. I have to be getting sick, because this is so not me. 

I put on pajamas and collapse in bed when I get home, relieved to finally have some solace. Amy is off doing something somewhere, and the apartment is quiet save for the phone ringing as I call Jesse to FaceTime. 

“Be-ca!” he says enthusiastically, and I muster up the best smile I can. He notices my demeanor right away, though, and calms down. “Hey… hey, you okay?”

“Yeah,” I say, and for some reason I feel like I’m on the verge of tears. I don’t know what this is about, and I’m getting pissed about it. Regretfully, I’ve cried myself to sleep every night since he left. And that is definitely not normal. I haven’t told anyone. I don’t even let myself think back on it in the morning. 

“You don’t sound okay,” he says, his voice growing gentle and caring. “You don’t look it, either.” 

“Wow, thanks.” 

“Not what I mean,” he says. “You look… down. Bad day at work?” 

“No,” I say. “Well, not really. I threw up, which was embarrassing. I think I’m coming down with something. The flu, maybe.” 

“Oh, no,” he says. “What can I do? Sing?” 

“Please, don’t sing.” 

He chuckles and says, “Kidding. Want me to make soup and mail it the hundreds of miles to you?”

“Yeah,” I say, trying for a small grin. “But if you put vegetables in it again, I’ll kill you.” 

“I’ll try and remember that,” he says, tapping his chin for effect. We look at each other in the camera for a long moment, then he makes a small, sad expression. “I miss you, babe.” 

I don’t let him get sappy often, though he loves to go there. I always check him. But right now, I’m a little vulnerable, a little off my game, so I allow it. This once. 

“I miss you, too,” I say, sighing. “How long’s it been?’

“Three days,” he says. “Longest three days of my life.” 

“Are you having a good day, at least?” I ask. 

“It’s fine,” he says. “Unfortunately, there are no tiny, plucky, edgy acapella girls to charm.” He winks. “At least, until right now.” 

“You’re so corny,” I say, rolling my eyes. 

“Hey, there she is,” he says. “Would you believe me if I said I only said that to get your reaction?” 

“Not in the slightest.” 

“Didn’t think so,” he says. 

I roll onto my side and blink at him, and he looks back with a thoughtful, somber look in his eyes. “Wish you were here,” I say, and clear my throat to hide the way my voice cracks. 

“Me, too, Bec,” he says. “Me freakin’ too.”

…

I wake up the next morning feeling just fine, but once 2pm rolls around, I’m a mess again. I get sent home for a second time, and feel the same way as the day before. But after a few hours pass, it goes away and I’m completely fine. Each day, it’s the same.

I don’t think it’s the flu. I have a sinking feeling as to what it really is, but I won’t even let myself think it. 

“Throwing up at the same time every day? That’s kinda weird,” Chloe says one afternoon as we sit across from each other in Starbucks. She has a break between classes at vet school, and I was, yet again, sent home from work. “Maybe you’re…” 

“Nope,” I say, cutting her off. 

She eyes me. “Why don’t you have your regular, with all the espresso shots?” She squints, looking at the drink in my hand. “What even  _ is _ that?”

I tip the cup like it means nothing, which it does. “It’s tea, or something,” I say. “It’s good for my throat. Don’t worry about it.” 

“Beca…” she says. “Are you thinking something and not telling me?” 

“I think plenty of things without telling you,” I say. “It’s not abnormal.”

“Don’t divert,” she says, leaning forward in her chair. “How long’s it been since you and Jesse…?” She raises her eyebrows suggestively to put across her point. 

“Um, hello!” I say. “Okay. That’s actually none of your business.” I check my phone and pretend I have somewhere to be, which we both know I don’t. “Look, I gotta go. I’ll text you, though, okay?” 

When I get home, I plop down on my bed without taking my shoes off and sit with my elbows on my knees. Chloe’s question festers in my mind… when  _ was  _ the last time Jesse and I slept together? I flop backwards and close my eyes to think it over. It was just before he left, which was almost three weeks ago. We were watching a movie on his bed, the fourth  _ Harry Potter _ I think, and I was bored. So, we entertained each other in different ways. 

He came when Harry and Voldemort’s wands fused together and made that weird color combination, which he found incredibly amusing. I couldn’t get him to shut up about it, but he ended up making me laugh too much to care. He asked if I wanted to rewind to see if he could get me to come at the same spot, but I’d declined. He did get me there, a few times actually, but I have no idea what scenes were playing. He’d made me feel too good to care. 

Had we used a condom? And the time before that, in the back of his car… did we use one then? Or in the shower, after he got back from the gym the weekend preceding, what about then?

“Shit,” I say aloud. 

…

“Beca, you know I love our time together. But I need ‘Amy time,’ too, you know,” Amy says, pausing in the doorway of my room. “And I can’t really get that when you come home from work at the same time every day… if you catch my drift.” 

“Yeah, caught it,” I say, miserably, from beneath my covers.

“What’s wrong with you, anyway?” she asks, coming inside uninvited. “This morning, you were all peppy and pinchy and whatnot. What’s happened, now?” I don’t answer right away, which leads her into a tangent. “You know, for the three days I worked an office job, the same thing happened to me. Walked in the doors, immediately got sick. Had to go home. Had to quit. I think it was a side-effect of the capitalism.” 

“Amy…” I groan. “Please, I’m begging you to go away.” 

“I’m just trying to help!” she says, sitting down on the mattress beside me. “Is it because you miss Jesse?” she asks, tilting her head. “Your J-man?” 

“I don’t call him that,” I say. “No one calls him that.” 

“Symptoms of a broken heart…” she says. “Maybe that’s what it is. Or!” She points a finger in the air. “Or, it could be-”

“I’m pregnant, actually,” I say, throwing the covers back to look at her with a pale-faced stare.

She stares back with equal intensity and shock. “I’m sorry, I think I’ve had a malfunction,” she says. “Could you repeat that?” 

“I am pregnant,” I say, enunciating each syllable. It’s the first time I’ve said it out loud, and I don’t know whether to feel relieved that I’m not the only one harboring the secret, or sick that it’s become that much more true. 

“What…” she says, and this might be the first time I’ve seen her at a loss for words. “Have you… have you told Jesse yet?” Her eyes widen further. “It is his, right?” 

“Amy!” I say, and smack her with a stray pillow. “Yes, it’s his!” I sigh. “And no, I haven’t told him.”

“Well, are you going to?” 

“Yes,” I say, defensively. “Yes. It’s just… he’s really busy right now, and I don’t want to bother him…” 

“Yeah, sorry, Jesse, don’t want to bother you. But I’m just carrying the fruit of your loins inside my very fertile womb!” 

“God!” I say, flopping back while covering my face with my hands.

“Careful,” she says, her voice suddenly softer as she lays a gentle hand on my stomach. “There’s a tiny Jeca in there.” 

“Don’t… please, don’t do that.” 

…

LA is three hours behind, which means that while I sit in bed at 2am and wonder how I’m going to tell my boyfriend that I’m carrying his baby, it’s only 11pm for him. 

I’ve been sitting here for what feels like hours, going over a possible script. I still haven’t found anything that sounds right.

“Hey, Jesse. How was your day? Mine was good, good… well, I had a great lunch ‘cause I’m eating for two! Haha! How funny is that, right? Means I’m pregnant!”

I shake my head. That’s horrible and stupid. 

“Hey, Jesse. Listen, let’s not beat around the bush. Lord knows you didn’t. And because of that, I’m pregnant!” 

I close my mouth and groan. I don’t think it’s the greatest time for jokes, especially ones as gross as that. I’ll leave those to Amy. 

Finally, I can’t handle it anymore. I pick up the phone and debate whether to FaceTime or just simply voice call him, but decide on the former. Reading his face will be a huge part of this. He could say anything he thinks I want to hear, but I’ll know what he’s really thinking if I can see his eyes. 

As it rings, my skin gets clammy and my tongue must grow three sizes. I feel like I might choke on it when he picks up. 

“Bec?” he says, and from the light of his phone screen I can see how tired he looks. I must have woken him up. Shit. “You okay? It’s so late.” 

“It’s only 11 for you, nerd,” I say, trying to keep my tone light. 

“Yeah, but…” He rubs his eyes. “Isn’t it like, 2 for you? What are you doing up?”

“I, um, I wanted to talk to you,” I say, twisting the comforter with my free hand. 

“In the middle of the night?” 

“It couldn’t wait.” 

“Okay…” he says, giving me a look. 

“But if you’re tired, you know, you should go back to sleep,” I say, losing gumption. “I know you have busy days, and I really shouldn’t have woken you up. I’m being a dick right now, god. I didn’t think… you have an 8am, I know you do, god. Geez, I should just hang up.” 

“Hey, no,” he says. “What’s bothering you?” 

I sigh and purse my lips, letting a gust of air from my nose. I don’t know if he’s ready for it - actually, I’m sure he’s not - but I don’t have much of a choice. 

“Jess,” I say, tone changing completely. From blustery and rushed a few seconds ago, it’s now calm and nearly a whisper. He lowers his eyebrows with concentration. “Jess…” I close my eyes and shake my head. “I’m pregnant.” 

I open them again after he leaves a beat of silence where his response should be. I search his face for any sort of reaction, but it’s completely blank. He seems to be trying to read me in the same way I am him. 

“Whoa,” he says finally. 

“Yeah,” I say. “And I’m sorry to drop that bomb on you so late, I know I freaking woke you up to tell you that, but…” I sigh. “I was kinda going crazy keeping it to myself. Well, myself and Amy. But she’s, surprisingly, not much help.” 

“No, no, don’t apologize,” he says. “I’m glad you told me. It’s just…” His eyes widen. “It’s just whoa.” He laughs incredulously; it sounds more like a bark. “I kind of forgot our bodies could do that. You know, make a kid. Another human.” Another shocked expression crosses his features. “We were just having fun, being us… we didn’t even  _ know _ …” He looks right into the camera, right in my eyes. “Bec. It’s a kid.” 

“Yeah. I know.” 

He’s quiet for a while longer, sifting through his thoughts. I know, because I’ve been doing the same thing every day since those tests came back positive. 

“I’m coming home,” he says, out of the blue. 

“Jesse, what? No,” I say. “You just started your first semester, there is no way you can just up and leave.” 

“It’s just school, I’ll make it up,” he says. “It doesn’t matter. _You_ matter.” 

“It’s not ‘just school,’ listen to yourself,” I say. “Who are you, me? No way. You’re not doing that. I won’t let you.” 

“You can’t really stop me, though,” he says.

“You’re not gonna uproot your life there just to come back for me,” I say, but feel a tugging sensation in my gut due to how badly I want to be with him. I can’t figure this out on my own, and while he’s with me over the airwaves, I need him physically. I won’t tell him that, though. 

“Why not?” 

“Because!” I say, getting frustrated. I have too many emotions fighting inside my head right now, and it’s pissing me off. “I only have two months left here, and I finished the project today. The rest can be done online, it’s all tying up loose ends.” I settle down a bit, having worked out a solution. “I’ll just come to you. Early.” 

“Yeah, but now who’s uprooting their life?” he says. 

“Jesse, please,” I say. “I’ll talk to my boss tomorrow. If he says it’s alright, then why shouldn’t I just do it? If he isn’t cool with it, then we’ll figure something out.” 

“Then, I come back,” he says. 

I have no choice but to concede. “Yes,” I say. “Sure.” 

Come to find out, my boss is cool with it. I’ve done all I need to do in person, and the rest is - just as I said - finishing touches. As I walk out of work (without throwing up for the first time in days) it hits me that I’m moving to LA in less than a week. 

“Well, are you coming back?” Amy says, her voice a near-screech as I pack up my room. “I don’t want to share an apartment with the legacy forever. Please, tell me you’re coming back.” 

“Eventually, yes,” I say. “After a few years, after he’s done with school.” 

“That bitch!” she says, cursing Jesse. 

“Hey, that’s the father of my baby you’re talking about,” I say, glaring at her. 

“What about a baby daddy?” 

I flip around and gasp, seeing the Bellas all standing there in the entryway of mine and Amy’s house like they own the place. The one who asked the question was Aubrey, who’s now giving me a very suspicious look. 

“I…” I say. 

“Are you really?!” Emily asks, hurrying forward to grab my hands. I automatically shake her off, staring at the rest of them in disbelief. 

“Where did you guys come from?” I ask. “And why are you strangely all together?” 

“Details,” Chloe says, brushing off my questions with a flick of her hand. “We came to throw a goodbye party, but it seems you’re too far gone for that.” She looks wounded. “Rushing off without even letting me have my fanfare. So mean.” 

“Wait, wait, wait,” Aubrey says, still latched onto what she heard. “Beca, are you pregnant?” She doesn’t give me time to respond before she continues. “I knew it. I always knew it, and you have to say I’m right. You had a toner for him from day one!” 

“Aubrey…” I groan, massaging my temples. 

“Just like my dad always says,” she prattles on. “Stick to your guts, or have them blown out of your body.” 

“Okay…” Amy says, walking around to join us. “Yes, everybody. Stop the presses. Jesse has aca-impregnated Beca with his beautiful tenor sperm.” 

The Bellas erupt in a sea of shrieks and gasps, and I shrug. They were going to have to find out somehow. Lilly mutters something unintelligible, but I think I catch the phrase ‘mirror twin.’ 

“I can’t believe it!” Stacie says. “I always thought I’d be the first one. Aw. I’m jealous.”

“You’ll get there, I’m sure,” I say, growing uncomfortable with all the baby talk. Jesse and I still haven’t discussed what we’re doing about this whole thing - I don’t even know if he wants to keep it. I don’t even know if  _ I  _ want to. 

But, I can’t tell them that. I let them live in their bubble and fawn over me until my suitcase is packed and ready for LA, and it’s time to leave. 

“Wait, you’re leaving today?” Cynthia Rose says. “Today, as in, right now?” 

“Yep,” I say, yanking on the handle of my rolling bag. 

“Don’t lift that!” Amy says, jumping in to take it from me. She touches my stomach gently, and directs her words down there instead of my face when she says, “You’re fragile.” 

“How long will you be gone?” Emily asks. “Just wanna know how long I have your room for.” 

“Um, I don’t really know,” I say. “A while. A few years. So, I hope you’re good on rent.” 

She acts flustered for a moment before composing herself, and Amy looks less than thrilled.

“My cab’s here, guys,” I say, peering out the window. “I gotta go.”

“She loves hugs!” Chloe shouts, and I have no time to protest before every single one of them is on top of me for a group hug. I have no idea what part of anyone’s body I’m touching, but I’m smiling once they pull away. “You know you wanna say it,” she says.

“Say it, say it, say it,” Amy chants. 

I roll my eyes and climb into the cab, letting the driver throw my suitcase into the trunk while I roll the window down. I make eye contact with each of the Bellas, sigh, then say, “Love you, awesome nerds.” 

…

I didn’t cry as the taxi pulled away, or when I got an especially sappy text from Chloe in the group chat. I didn’t cry when I boarded the plane, or when I watched the city I love disappear as we took off. I didn’t cry when Jesse texted that he was waiting in the main gate area, but I do cry when I see him. There are some things you just can’t help. 

It’s like a breath of fresh air, seeing his face in person. I ditch my suitcase and run at him full-speed, and launch myself into his arms. He picks me up off the ground as I wrap my legs around him, and tucks his face into my neck while squeezing me tight.

“There you are,” he says, neither of us letting go. I stay in his arms for a long time, and when I place my feet back on the floor, I hug his waist and look into his eyes. He wipes my tears away with his thumbs and says, “Don’t cry, Shopgirl. Don’t cry.” 

“Don’t movie quote me,” I say, but I can’t hide my smile. 

He kisses me while holding my face, then strokes my hair out of my eyes. “I missed you,” he says. 

“I missed you so much,” I say, allowing my voice to break.

“Better get your bag before someone steals it,” he says. “This is LA, you know.” He walks over and picks it up, then gives me a strained, exaggerated expression. “Jeez. Did you pack all the Bellas in here, too?” 

I giggle, my voice still a little watery as I fall in step at his side. “Just Lilly,” I say, and we both laugh. 

…

“This is nice,” I say, after taking a good look around his apartment. “Small… but nice.” 

“I got a small one just for you,” he says. “Didn’t want you to feel overwhelmed.” 

“That was nice of you,” I say, acknowledging his joke but keeping my voice soft. I don’t have the energy to raise it any higher.

“Plus, you know. LA prices.” He lets out a low whistle. “Kinda crazy.” 

“I bet,” I say. 

He sets my suitcase down and for a moment, we just stand across from each other without knowing what to say. We’ve known each other for the better part of three years, yet everything in our relationship feels topsy-turvy right now. I’m not sure how to handle it.

“I’m really tired,” I say, yawning as if on cue.

“Oh, sure,” he says. “You wanna lay down? Take a nap?”

“Yeah,” I say, slipping out of my shoes before taking off my jacket and making a beeline for the couch. I look over at him where he’s straightening something on the counter, and say, “You’re coming, too, right?” 

He flashes me a smile. “Oh, of course,” he says. “I’m the nap champion. Be one sec.”

I don’t have to wait long before he comes over and insists I use his thigh as a pillow, to which I’m not complaining. That’s what I wanted, anyway. He uses one hand to run his fingers through my hair, and I look at him with an attempt at a smile. 

“Will you put something on?” I ask.

“What, some soft music?” he asks. 

I shake my head no. 

“Oh,” he says, grinning. “A movie. She wants a movie.” He chuckles. “Yeah. Of course.” 

I turn on my side to face the screen, but I don’t have any clue what he chose because my eyes close too fast to find out. I fall asleep with my head in my boyfriend’s lap, trying to chase away my worries with things that feel like home. 

When I wake up, the TV screen is black and Jesse is asleep with his head rested against the back cushion of the couch. But as soon as I roll over to get a better look, he jolts awake like he’s been caught sleeping on the job. 

“Hey,” he says, looking at my face. He taps my nose with his pointer finger, then my chin. I hold onto his arm and hug it with both of mine, resting it in the middle of my chest. 

“How long did I sleep?” 

“A while,” he says. “I checked your pulse a couple times to make sure you were still alive.”

I snort and roll my eyes, then sigh deeply. The subject can’t wait any longer - I’ve done enough of bottling it up. I’ll explode if it stays inside my brain for a minute more. 

“Jess,” I say. “What are we gonna do?” 

I watch his eyes flit to my stomach, which is, of course, not showing a thing. I have the urge to cover it with my hands, but then remember who I’m with. It’s him. 

He chews the inside of his cheek and exhales with a contemplative expression on his face. “I don’t know,” he says, and the words are weighted down heavy. He meets my eyes when he asks, “Do you… do you want to get rid of it?” 

I’d be lying if I said the thought hadn’t crossed my mind, but I never let it stay. I didn’t like to let any thoughts about the baby stay, whether they were thoughts of an abortion or thoughts of the two of us baby shopping together. None of it seemed real, and it still doesn’t. I’m still the same me, except I get dizzy, throw up, and my boobs hurt like a bitch. But other than that, I don’t feel pregnant. It doesn’t seem possible. 

But looking at his face and how softly his eyes are, how caring, something bursts in my chest and explodes with warmth. I know he’d be the best father. He’s thoughtful, funny, and so patient. He would never walk out on me or our kid like my dad did and come back years later trying to make up for it. He’d always be there. That’s a hallmark of his personality; he is so consistent. And his heart - his heart is huge. Our child wouldn’t even know what to do with all that love.

I can’t imagine how I’d feel if I got rid of our child. Not that I have anything against it - I’m pro-choice beyond all means. But this is my choice, our choice. And I think I already know what one I’ve made.

“I wanna keep it,” I say, voicing the thought for the first time. It’s scary to say it, but it also feels good. Like some sort of secret that I’m finally sharing with the world, and with the person who matters the most. I meet his eyes and ask, “Do you?” 

“Yeah,” he says, smiling that record-breaking smile. “I really do.” 

…

So, we decide to keep our baby. I move in with Jesse permanently, with promises of finding a better place once we’re making a little more money. The tiny studio barely has room for us, let alone a baby. But we have plenty of time. 

My stomach barely grows at first. For a while, he calls it our ‘food baby,’ because it looks like I just ate too many tacos. But once the six month mark hits, that changes. I blow up like a balloon, and our baby girl starts to kick and make her presence known. Jesse says she’s like her daddy that way, keeping me up at night with her antics. 

During the seventh month, the girls back home are insistent on FaceTiming almost every single day. So, when I get back from the studio, I give them a call as often as I can.

“Are you sure you’re not just smuggling a beach ball under there?” Amy asks, squinting at the screen. 

“I’m sure,” I say, one hand over my bump. “Believe me. I’m very sure.” 

Jesse comes up behind me and wraps his arms around my waist, and subsequently around my belly. There’s no getting around it these days. “Oh yeah,” he says. “That’s all me.” 

I roll my eyes and look back at him, shoving him playfully with one shoulder.

“How do you even walk?” Amy says. “Your stomach is bigger than you!” 

“It’s a daily struggle,” I say, doing my best to sit down on the couch without straining anything. She’s right - my stomach is cartoonishly large on my small frame, and everyone loves to point it out as if I don’t notice. 

“Anyway, Emily keeps yelling at me to send you these birthing tips,” she says, making a less-than-amused expression. “She keeps saying that her mom is a Junk, so she knows quite a bit about pushing babies out of her junk.” 

“That’s disturbing,” I say. 

“Try having to hear it three hundred times a day,” Amy says. “She cleans too much, Beca. I need you back.” 

I laugh lightly. “I don’t think that’s a thing anymore,” I say, then pan the camera around the room. “We just got this brand new apartment. The baby is gonna have her own room. I don’t think I’ll be back for a while.” 

She sighs dramatically. “That might just mean I have to come to you. I can’t handle much more of this pep fest.” 

…

At the end of my eighth month, Jesse and I are putting finishing touches on the baby’s nursery. Organizing her dresser that’s full of clothes, putting frames on the wall, and making sure we have plenty of diapers stocked.

“I gotta be honest,” he says, looking around. “We’re pretty awesome decorators.” 

“You’re right,” I say, easing myself into the rocking chair. I close my eyes for a moment as I feel her move, and smile when I realize what’s happening in there. “She has the hiccups. Come feel.” 

He saunters over and kneels at my side, pressing one wide palm to my very swollen belly. Every time she hiccups, he laughs incredulously like it’s the most amazing thing he’s ever experienced. He’s taken in every ounce of this pregnancy, working two jobs along with going to school so we can afford everything we need for her. And along with what money I’m bringing in from my job at the studio, we’re doing okay. He was right, it is expensive living in LA, but we make it work. For our baby, we’ve made ends meet. 

“I can’t believe she’s like… she’s in there,” he says, looking up to meet my eyes. “It’s amazing, what you’re doing. You’re carrying our baby, Bec.” 

“Believe me, I know,” I say, then run one hand through his messy hair. “And she’s gonna come out soon.” 

Fear flashes across his eyes for a millisecond before disappearing. I know exactly how he feels. 

“You think we’re gonna be okay at it?” he asks, studying me with round, vulnerable eyes. 

He’s not usually the one asking questions like this, insecure about how things will turn out. Lately, that’s been me. Some nights, I wake up sweating after a nightmare I can’t remember, convinced we’ll be horrible parents. He always comforts me, assuring me that we’re capable people who always do our best. We have a roof over our heads, money for food and all the supplies our baby needs. And most of all, we already love her. What more could she ask for? After hearing this so many times, I’ve grown to believe him and I can’t wait to meet her. I just hope I know what to do once she’s born. I don’t want to look like an idiot not knowing how to hold my own baby. 

“I do think so, yeah,” I say. I cup his face with one hand, laughably small next to his big head. “I mean, you were the one who said it first.” 

He tips his head to one side, leaning against my palm. “Said what?”

I put on a funny voice that’s supposed to be a caricature of his. “You’re one of those acapella girls.... I’m one of those acapella boys…”

He closes his eyes and smiles, shaking his head with the memory. “And we’re gonna have aca-children. It’s inevitable.” 

“And look,” I say, angling my chin to look at him with raised eyebrows. “You were right. Happy?” 

He holds my wrist and chuckles soundlessly, shoulders bouncing. “Very.” 

…

“Jesse Swanson, I am never letting you near me again! Do you hear me? Not ever again!” 

“Yes, babe. I hear you. I’m with you. I’m awful and horrible.” 

“You’re not just horrible, you’re a monster,” I sob, eyes pinched shut as I lie on the hospital bed, legs in stirrups. When I was first put into this position, I’d never felt so violated and humiliated in my life. But now, those feelings are the last things on my mind compared to all the pain I’m in. “And you did this to me!” 

“I know,” he says, nodding as he holds my hand and dabs the sweat off my forehead. “And I’m so sorry, baby.” 

“It’s too late for that now!” I scream, gritting my teeth as another contraction ripples through me. 

“You’re doing a beautiful thing, Bec,” he says, squatting at my bedside and kissing my knuckles. “Think about it.” 

“I can’t think about anything  _ else _ ,” I insist. “I don’t want to hear how amazing I am, I just want this over with. I need her out!” 

“We’re getting there, Beca,” the midwife says, positioned on the other side of me. “Remember your breathing. You can do this.” 

I close my eyes to try to concentrate on my inhales and exhales, but it’s easier said than done when something the size of a watermelon is trying to come out of my body. I grip Jesse’s hand as tightly as I can and bear down when I’m told to, white-hot pain searing throughout my entire being. I feel like I’m being ripped in half and there’s nothing I can do but suffer and see this through to the other side. Shutting out everyone’s voices, I try and picture what her face will look like. I have to keep that image as my goal, my endpoint. As soon as she’s out, all of this pain will have been worth something. I’ll have her in my arms; mine and Jesse’s perfect creation. 

But right now, with the baby still inside me, the pain isn’t so easy to compartmentalize. It seems to go on forever, the pushing, and there are many times when I want to give up. I don’t have any energy left, and I’ve given all I can. 

During a quiet moment of rest where I’ve collapsed, entire body sweating, against the mattress, Jesse rushes to my side with ice chips for me to chew on. He wipes my forehead, holds my face with both hands, and kisses me quickly. 

“I know you hate me right now, but I love you,” he says. 

I manage a smile. A really weak, watered-down smile that I hope translates correctly to:  _ I love you, too, but get the hell out of my face. _

Gracie Clare Swanson is born on October 6th at 4:28am, and when I hear her cries split the room, I’ve never been more grateful in my life. I’ve spent time around plenty of music, heard thousands and thousands of songs, but that is the most beautiful sound I’ve ever heard. 

“You did it,” Jesse says, looking at me with excitement in his eyes. “You did it. She’s out, they’re cleaning her. Oh, god, Bec, she’s so big.” 

I smile breathlessly. “Don’t have to tell me that,” I joke, and he laughs before giving me an emotional kiss on the lips. 

I invite Jesse onto the bed and he curls his body around mine when they bring Gracie over. The nurse shows me how to hold her, and once she’s in my arms, it feels natural. I’m surprised at how natural it feels; I hadn’t expected that. I expected fumbling, I thought I’d be afraid of dropping her. But I’m not. As she lies in my arms, swaddled tight in a soft, pink blanket, everything feels right. 

“Look at her,” I say, gazing at my baby’s face as she yawns. I giggle a bit and graze my lips across her soft skin, her nonexistent eyebrows. I turn my head to look at Jesse, whose eyes are glistening. “Our daughter.” 

He gives me a kiss on the cheek and rests one gentle hand over our little bundle. “Hi,” he whispers, resting his chin on my shoulder. “Hi, beautiful girl.”

I relax against him, letting out a sigh of relief and gratitude. I’ve made a lot of impressive, artistic creations in my life, but Gracie is by far the most exquisite. 

…

Bringing the baby home is nerve-wracking, exciting, terrifying and thrilling all at once. Since having her, my emotions are all over the place and Jesse has been paying the price, though always graciously. I don’t mean to bite his head off, but I find myself obsessively thinking about things I never did before she was born. Things I don’t even have to worry about yet, like if she’ll like LA or if we should’ve had her back home, or if she’ll make friends in school. I know my thoughts and emotions don’t much make sense, but that doesn’t mean I can control them. 

She’s so tiny and fragile, and everything she does is amazing. When she opens her eyes, she takes my breath away. They’re blue, like all babies’ are, but somehow more magnificent. They’re dark, almost indigo, because of Jesse’s eye color. With each day, she grows more beautiful and somehow more ours. 

It’s hard for me to let her out of my sight, even in the house. I like to keep her close, swaddled in a sling on my chest whether she’s awake or asleep. While I walk around and tidy up, I keep one hand under her rounded form just to remind myself she’s there. It’s comforting. 

“You’re the cutest little mama,” Jesse says, like always, coming up behind me to drop a kiss on my cheek. 

I wake up at the first note of her cries in the middle of the night, and I can tell what sounds mean what. I know when she’s hungry, when she needs to be changed, and when she’s tired. Also, when she just needs to be close to either me or her daddy. 

But tonight, I wake up to silence, expecting to hear a cry that isn’t there. I rub my eyes, confused, as I look at the clock. It’s almost 2, she’s late for her feeding, so I come to the conclusion that something must be wrong. I barely even notice that Jesse isn’t beside me as I get out of bed and pad towards the nursery. 

I don’t flick the overhead light on; I don’t need to. The nightlight plugged in to the wall shows me everything I need to see, which is Jesse sitting in the rocking chair with our tiny girl in his arms, cradling her close. 

“You know, I wish that I had Jessie’s girl… I wish that I had Jessie’s girl… where can I find a woman like that?” he sings softly.

I lean on the doorjamb and watch them for a second before saying, “I’m not sure if I approve of your Rick Springfield selection.” 

He looks up with a start. “Geez, Bec,” he whispers. “You scared me.” 

I walk over slowly, placing one hand on his shoulder while admiring Gracie’s sleeping face. “You already got Jesse’s girl,” I say, stroking him with my thumb. “Both of them, actually.” 

He chuckles, then looks up. “I heard her fussing in the baby monitor. Just needed a change. You were so tired, and I wanted to let you sleep.” 

“Thank you,” I say, and truly mean it. Having a new baby in the house is more exhausting than I ever imagined it could be. 

He looks away and back down at Gracie, who’s still resting peacefully. As the days pass, she’s been losing her swollen, brand-new baby look and growing into someone who looks more like the two of us. Jesse claims she has my nose, and I stand by the fact that she’ll always have his eyes. 

“You know, I think I was wrong,” he says, after a few beats of silence. 

I frown a bit. “Wrong about what?” 

He smiles, first at Gracie and then at me. “Maybe beginnings are the best part.” 


	2. Chapter 2

The first thing I see after making my way through the crowd of people deboarding is a big, white posterboard that says ‘MAMA BEAR’ in multicolored markers. If I’m not mistaken, it’s also decorated with  _ Star Wars _ themed stickers and lots of glitter. 

The smile that breaks onto my face is involuntary and uncontrollable, even as I try and calm it down. Nothing works. Standing there amidst tons of strangers is my favorite guy and our little girl, searching for me with identical expressions on their faces. They’re literally carbon copies of one another. 

I keep walking, getting closer while they still don’t see me. I swear, I’m standing right in front of them and saying, “Hey, nerds,” before their eyes catch mine. 

“Mommy!” Gracie squeals, and launches herself at me. 

I let my carry-on bag fall to the ground as I lift her up, her body tiny and light. I squeeze her tight, pressing my face into her thick, brown hair, and laugh as she does.

“I missed you, mommy!” 

“I missed you, too, chickpea,” I say, clenching my teeth because of how damn cute she is. “You are so stinkin’ big. What happened?” 

“I growed!”

I set her down and hold her face, kissing her forehead while she beams at me. After I stand up straight and she plasters herself to my side, I make eye contact with her dad and flash him a small grin. 

“Hey, dork,” I say, sauntering over. 

“Hey, you,” he says, and winds his arms around my waist to pull me close. “It’s been a minute.” 

“Quite a few minutes,” I say, closing my fist and knocking it against his chest. “Gimme a kiss so we can get out of here. This place is filthy, and it’s giving our child diseases.” 

He chuckles, cups my face, and does as I say. When he pulls away, he swipes a thumb over the apple of my cheek and says, “It’s good to have you back.” 

…

“You know why I came home, right, Gracie?” I say, turning around in the passenger seat as Jesse drives.

Gracie is in her car seat, holding a Barbie in one hand and a firetruck in the other. Since I’ve been gone, it looks like Barbie has received a haircut and a crayon makeover, both of which I approve. 

“‘Cause I’m goin’ to preschool!” she says, sending one arm straight into the air as she shouts the answer. 

“Got that right,” I say, then turn back around. 

My tour was supposed to last a few more months, into November. But missing Gracie’s first ever day of school didn’t sit right with me. I’m not the kind of mom that skips things like that, the important milestones. I’m hands-on, I’m dedicated, I’m present. I may not have expected to ever fill the shoes of a mother, but I do the best I can. And my best is cutting my tour short to live up to my daughter’s expectations. I’ve never let her down, and I don’t plan on it. 

“Who thinks we should do a cookout when we get home?” Jesse asks, interrupting my thoughts of the big day tomorrow. 

“Me!” Gracie cheers, and I look over at him, a smile in my eyes, with one elbow resting on the console between us. 

When we get home, Jesse takes my luggage inside and Gracie helps, carting my carry-on bag as best she can while we make it in the front door.

“Home sweet home,” Jesse says, taking in a big breath like he was the one who’d been gone. 

It is nice to be back. Since I was gone for a few months, I can recognize the way our house smells, and it’s comforting. It’s like being wrapped in a warm blanket, being welcomed back after being away for so long. Nothing has changed, that’s the best part. There are still dirty kid shoes on the mat, a couple awards and trophies inside the case in the hall, Jesse’s coat hanging on the banister. I take a moment just standing there, soaking it all in, when I feel an arm snake around my waist from the side. 

“Happy to be here?” he asks, lips moving against my hair. 

I nod and lean into him, smiling to myself. Sometimes, it still amazes me how soft I’ve become, though I won’t admit it. Not in the daylight, at least. 

“Good. ‘Cause I’m sure damn happy to have you back. Don’t ever leave again.” 

I turn to look at him, still caught up in his arms. “Ever?” I say. “ What should we do, live on the streets?”

“We can live off my income,” he says. “You stay home, take care of our thousands of babies, and we’ll go from there.” 

“I resent that,” I say, poking him in the chest as I know he’s joking. “And we only have one baby, last time I checked.” 

“Maybe true right now, but-” 

“Are we eating yet?” Gracie pipes up, as if on cue. “Daddy, you makin’ stuff on the grill. Time to cook. I want dinner.” 

“Alright, bossy-pants,” he says, throwing a glance back at me as Gracie pushes him towards the slider door. “Wonder where you got that from.”

“Come on!” she insists, waving us both forward. “Mama, we’re gonna blow bubbles.” 

“Okay, okay,” I say. “Let’s go.” 

Gracie and I sit at the picnic table while Jesse stands at the grill and watches us. I don’t need to look over to know that he is; I can feel his eyes without taking mine off our daughter. We’ve been together too long for me not to know when he’s watching me - it’s easy to guess. He’s almost always watching me. 

“Who’s having hot dogs and who’s having hunga-bungas?” he asks, his voice booming across the backyard.

“Ten thousand hot dogs!” Gracie shrieks. “And forty-two! Ten thousand and forty two!” 

“Got it,” Jesse says. “And for Mommy? Hunga-bunga or hot dog?”

“Hamburger.” 

“Not sure what that is,” he says, tapping his chin with the still-unused spatula.

“Mommy, you gotta say the silly word,” Gracie says, tugging on my arm so my whole body shakes. “Or else he won’t make it. It’s a game we maked up.” 

I raise my eyebrows at her, then toss a look over my shoulder at Jesse. “Hunga-bunga, then, dork.”

“Ah!” he says, raising the spatula in the air like he just won a fight. “Coming right up.” 

Gracie and I play for a little while longer until dinner is ready, then we all eat outside. I keep her on my lap, feeding her bites of mine as we go along, and she and Jesse talk my ear off about everything I missed - filling me in on what they didn’t tell me over our nightly FaceTime sessions. 

I let them talk, looking between both their faces with love and admiration. I don’t know how I lasted those three months away from home. Being here with them, I never want to leave again. I can’t believe how gushy I feel right now. 

Being a mom is what did it to me. Jesse can take the credit all he wants, but it was the baby on my lap who cracked open my heart and made it ooze throughout my entire body. Being a mom is one of the best things in the world to me, though I never thought I’d be much good at it. Of course, I still have my moments of doubt and insecurity, and I falter. But during those moments, Jesse is always there to remind me what a badass I am.

Okay, so he played a part in the softening, too. 

That night, after bathtime and three stories, we’re kissing Gracie goodnight before her first day of school.

“Wake up early tomorrow,” she says, eyelids growing heavy. “Can’t be late.” 

“We won’t be,” Jesse assures her, running her thick, brown hair through his fingers just in the way he does mine. “We’ll get you up bright and early, get you ready, and take you to school together. That sound fun?” 

She nods and gives him a sleepy smile, then outstretches her arms for a hug from me. I melt against her, breathing in her sweet scent, and touch her nose with my pointer finger. Tomorrow, she’ll be a little older, a little bit less my baby. She’ll be in school; that’s a big step. 

“I love you,” I say, squeezing her tight while closing my eyes. 

“You know how much we love you?” Jesse asks, and Gracie nods. “How much?” 

She extends her arms out wide and smiles softly, giggling so her chest bounces. “This much,” she says, and usually she’d say it loud and with gusto, but she’s too sleepy right now. 

“We’re gonna let you sleep,” I say, looking pointedly at her father. “So you’re not tired for school tomorrow. Right, Dad?” 

He smiles, caught in the act of keeping her up. “Right,” he says. 

We shut off her light after saying goodnight one more time, then head out to the kitchen to clean up before going to bed ourselves. We don’t talk much, though I can tell Jesse wants to. I have a lot on my mind, being that tomorrow is Gracie’s first day of school and the day she completes a huge milestone. I feel like she’s getting away from me, like I’ve been gone for too long and suddenly she’s gotten big without me here to witness it. 

He’s watching me again, putting away the dishes. And pretty soon, he walks over and slinks his arms around my waist, holding me close while dropping a few solid kisses to the tops of my shoulders. 

“I missed you,” he murmurs, lips moving against my shirt. 

I smile and touch his hands softly, fingertips ghosting over the familiar knuckles and veins. I lean against him, the back of my head on his collarbones, and sigh softly. He knows I missed him. I don’t have to say it. In fact, it might actually be weirder if I said it than if I didn’t. 

He lifts up and kisses the side of my head, still holding me close. All those nights I was alone, this is what I thought about. Not about having sex (though I’d be lying if I said that didn’t  _ ever _ cross my mind), but this type of intimacy. The married kind, where we clean up together after putting our kid to bed. It’s the type of domesticity I never thought I’d experience, because I was the type to hate it. 

But I don’t hate it. We have a roof over our heads, awesome jobs, and an even more awesome kid. We have it pretty good. I have the stability now that I never did growing up. 

“It’s good to be home,” I say, closing my eyes. 

“Me and Gracie Clare watched so many movies while you were gone,” he murmurs, lips moving against my ear. “Like, so many. One a night.”

“You spent three months rotting our child’s brain,” I say, without opening my eyes. 

“No, I was educating her,” he insists.

“What, with  _ Pulp Fiction  _ and  _ Lost in Translation _ ?” I ask, eyebrows up. 

“No, with  _ Barbie Rapunzel  _ and  _ Moana.  _ And for your information, I know every lyric of every song of the latter, if you’re interested in hearing my new repertoire.” 

“I’m not, surprisingly.” 

“ _ I’ve been staring at the edge of the wa- _ ” 

I reach back and clap a hand over his mouth as he starts to sing, and he laughs while digging his fingers into my hips. “Shush,” I say. 

“You missed me,” he says, quickly flipping me around so the small of my back presses against the counter and our hips are aligned. “Admit it, Bec…” 

As his face nears mine, I hold his cheeks in my hands and watch his eyes close. I take a second just memorizing this face, smiling to myself when he can’t see me, and give him what he wants - a long kiss.

“I missed that,” I say, pulling away and licking my lips.

“Mmm, me too,” he says, eyes still closed. “Been thinking about it for a while, actually. Let’s do it again, just to make sure we got it right.” 

I roll my eyes lightly, but give in. I loop my arms over his shoulders and he draws me even closer, arching my back as he pulls my hips in. He presses his hands against my sides - softer, since Gracie - and smiles against my mouth when I slip my fingers beneath the collar of his shirt. Just the tips, just to touch him skin-on-skin.

He lifts me up to sit on the counter and I make a small, high-pitched sound that I resent immediately, but I know he finds it adorable. I lock my feet on either sides of his thighs and grip his shoulders, and he skims his hands up my sides to rumple my shirt in the process, gazing at me with an uncontrollable glint in his eyes. 

“You look crazy,” I murmur, running my fingers through his messy hair. 

“Crazy… in love,” he says, leaning forward to press a solid kiss to the middle of my sternum. “Your favorite song ever.” 

“It is not, shut up,” I say, pulling his head closer while rolling my eyes and laughing.

He starts to sing the chorus, but I knock him with one of my knees to shut him up. He chuckles and I dip my head to find his neck, which he elongates once he realizes what I’m doing. 

“Oh, she’s finding her spot,” he says, as I close my lips around the spot on his neck that drives him crazy. It’s more his spot than it is mine, but it’s what we’ve always called it. He groans when I suck on his pulse point as his heart hammers under my tongue, and I smile against his skin. “Admit it, Bec,” he says. “You missed me.” 

“Why do I have to say it?” I say. “It’s not like it’s a secret.”

“Because I’m a simple man of simple pleasures, and I need to hear it,” he says. 

“I’ll bite you,” I threaten. 

“Oooh, kinky,” he says.

“Shut  _ up _ ,” I say, punching his chest lightly. “Fine.” I pull away, sit up and look into his eyes. “I missed you. Happy?” 

His eyes sparkle, literally sparkle, when he says, “Very.” 

…

After we’ve had sex (multiple times) and my body is physically spent, I still can’t fall asleep. All I can do is lie there in one of Jesse’s t-shirts, I can’t be sure what movie is on the front, maybe  _ The Goonies _ , and stare at the ceiling. 

I thought he’d been asleep when he says, “I can hear you thinking.” 

I jump a little, turning my head to find him looking at me. “You are such a creep,” I say. 

He shrugs. He knows. 

“You worried?” he asks.

I shake my head, the corners of my lips turning down to make my answer more convincing. He rolls on his side to see me better, then rests a hand over my ribcage. The weight of it feels nice, so I overlap it and thread our fingers together as I try to pretend I’m okay. 

“Sure...” he says, rubbing his thumb in circles over the t-shirt. 

“I’m fine,” I say. 

“I’m not arguing,” he says, and I hear the smile in his voice. “All I’m doing is laying here looking at you.” 

“Very creepily, might I add.” 

“It’s not creepy. I just missed your face.” 

I smirk to myself and turn on my side, too. He slides an arm around my middle and pulls me closer, pressing a firm kiss to my forehead.

“What was your favorite part about touring?” he asks. 

I shrug. “It was fun. I liked going. It’s cool to see people, you know, singing my songs back to me. I’m not sure if I’ll ever get over that. But at the same time, it’s really lonely. I spend all night on stage with a bunch of people, and when it’s over, it’s just… over. I’m in an empty bus by myself, with you guys just on a screen. It wasn’t enough.” 

“You think you’ll go again?” 

I shrug again. “Maybe when GC is older.”

“Yeah,” he says, running his fingers through my hair. “I feel like that day’s gonna sneak up on us.” 

I cover my face and say, “Don’t remind me.” 

He squeezes my hip, nudging the t-shirt up so he can rest a hand on my bare skin. “I know it was weird for you, to come back and see how big she got,” he says. “I saw it on your face.” 

I don’t respond. I don’t need to. 

“But it was only three months, Bec. She still sucks her thumb and needs help in the bath. She still puts her shoes on the wrong feet and can’t watch certain parts of  _ Paw Patrol  _ because they scare her.” 

A lump appears in my throat, but I will it down. I’m not going to cry, no matter how much his words mean to me. 

“But she’s starting school,” I say. “And I feel like I should’ve been home for these last three months, to soak in the baby-ness of her. Now, there’s no going back. She’ll be in school for the next fifteen years.” 

“ _ Please _ , don’t make me think of her as a teenager.”

“But that’s what I mean!” I say, then sigh. “It’s all going so fast.” 

“I know,” he says, growing serious. “But we can’t slow it down. We just gotta take it in.” 

“Yeah, I-”

“Mama!” Gracie wails, down the hall from her room. “Dada! Bad dream!” 

Jesse and I lock eyes and simultaneously roll out of bed - he puts on a shirt overtop his boxers, and I pull on a pair of underwear from the floor. We walk together into Gracie’s room, her bed illuminated by the nightlight, and kneel on either side of it. 

“What’s wrong, chickpea?” I ask, stroking her arm.

“Bad dream, mommy,” she says, curling towards me so she can wrap her arms around my neck and push her face close. “Scared.” 

“It’s okay, babe,” Jesse says, rubbing her back. “We’re here. You’re awake now.” 

“We’re not gonna let anything get you,” I promise. 

She sniffles, pulling away to lay back on the pillow. I see it in her eyes that she’s exhausted, and needs to get back to sleep for the big day tomorrow. 

“Want Daddy to sing?” I offer. 

She nods, lower lip pouted out. I touch it with my pointer finger and get a tiny smile out of her, which I knew I would. She is Jesse’s daughter, after all. 

“Alright,” he says, taking both her hands and sitting up straight on his knees. “I got one for you.” He clears his throat and sings, “ _ You’ll always be a part of me, I’m part of you indefinitely…”  _

I narrow my eyes and shake my head, glaring at him over our sleepy daughter. I mouth, “No,” but he continues. 

“ _ Girl, don’t you know you can’t escape me? Ooh, darlin’, ‘cause you’ll always be my baby.” _

I mouth, “Stop!” but he smiles wider and keeps going, finishing the chorus as Gracie’s eyelids sink lower and lower. 

“ _ And we’ll linger on, time can’t erase a feelin’ this strong. No way you’re ever gonna shake me, ooh darlin’, ‘cause you’ll always be my baby.”  _

And with the last note, she falls back to sleep, head lolled to one side and lips parted just slightly. Jesse carefully extracts his hands from her small ones, and we leave her bedroom in the same way we came. 

“You did not just serenade our daughter with Mariah Carey,” I grumble, leading the way back into our room.

With a smack to my butt, he says, “I did. And you loved it.”

...

“Look what I made, babe.” 

Jesse wakes me up first thing in the morning, when the sun isn’t even up yet. I blink open my eyes to find him holding a chalkboard, but my vision is still too blurry to see it clearly.

“Well, GC helped. Obviously.” 

I sit up, propped by an elbow, and read the sign after my eyes come into focus.

**GRACIE CLARE’S FIRST DAY OF PRESCHOOL!**

I am THREE years old

37 inches tall

30.5 pounds

I want to be a MOMMY and a SINGER when I grow up

I LOVE eating ice cream, dancing, watching movies, and playing airplanes

September 7th, 2020

“Isn’t it cute? You gotta admit, it’s cute.” 

“When did you turn into such a Pinterest mom?” I ask, flopping onto my back with a chuckle. “But yes, it’s adorable. Just like you.” 

“I’ll take it,” he says, then gasps theatrically. “There’s the star of the show! Good morning, preschooler!” 

Gracie walks into the room rubbing her eyes, dragging her feet like I do in the morning. She reaches her arms out for Jesse and he picks her up, kissing her face all over while she giggles that adorable giggle of hers.

“My chalkboard,” she says, pointing down at it. 

“Oh, yes,” he says. “You think I forgot? No way. We’re gonna get a special outfit on you and take your picture with it. And we’ll do the same thing for every first day of school ‘til you get old.” 

“I’m never get old,” she says, resting her head on his shoulder.

I sit up and reach for her, and she comes to me willingly. I spend a minute just hugging her, rocking back and forth, before letting her free. 

Jesse tells her she can choose her clothes for the rest of the school year, but today he and I are going to pick out what she wears. We agree on a pair of jean shorts, a black t-shirt with the word ‘ROCKSTAR’ in gold sequins, and bright pink tennis shoes. I pull her hair up in a high ponytail, kneeling on the front step as she stands there, and take a bunch of photos in succession while Jesse continuously steps into the frame to fix and straighten little bits of her. 

“Can we go now?” she whines, after the photoshoot has lasted much too long. 

I take that as my cue to stop. I put the phone down, shake my head at myself, and wonder when I became such a mom. 

…

After we pull into a parking spot, I turn to Jesse as Gracie talks to herself and say, “You are not going to cry,” without moving my lips. 

“I’m not!” he says. “You can’t, either.”

“Me?” I say, raising my eyebrows. “I’m not the one to worry about here.”

“Uh-huh.” 

We walk towards the building, both of us holding one of Gracie’s hands, and find the way to her classroom. She’s uncharacteristically quiet, her big, brown eyes - Jesse’s eyes - wide and wondering.

“You okay, chickpea?” I ask, and barely get a nod from her. 

We introduce ourselves to the teacher, who seems nice, and help Gracie find her table. Her chair is green, which normally she would’ve been over the moon about since that’s her favorite color, but she just sits down without any fanfare and blinks, eyes glassy. 

Jesse and I kneel at her side, like many other parents are doing with their children. 

“We’ll both be here to pick you up today,” he tells her. “At 3:30. You’re gonna listen to your teacher, right? And be good?” 

She nods solemnly. 

“And have fun, too, right?” he continues.

She nods again, without so much as a smile.

“We love you,” I say. “It’s gonna be so fun. I promise.”

Yet another nod. I’m starting to wonder if she’s gone into a catatonic state and isn’t capable of doing anything else. 

“Okay, babe,” Jesse says, standing. “We’re gonna go, then. We gotta get to work. You own it, alright? Show ‘em who’s boss.” 

We start to walk away, but we don’t get far. I hear her footsteps before turning around, and suddenly Gracie barrels into me and I kneel to accept her little body against mine. 

“Hey…” I say, as she throws her arms around my shoulders and bursts into tears, her back shaking. “It’s okay, baby. It’s okay to be scared.”

I close my eyes and hold her tight, letting her cry without telling her to stop. I can’t help but remember my first days of school, when I’d be sick with nerves, but my mother would leave without a second glance over her shoulder. When Gracie was born, I vowed to myself I’d never make her feel invisible like my mother did to me. So right now, I hold her. And I let her cry.

“I got you,” I say.

“I don’t wanna stay!” she sobs. “I wanna go to work with you! I don’t wanna stay here. Please, don’t make me stay.”

“I know it’s scary,” I say, rubbing her back. “But I promise, you’re gonna love it. You’re gonna make so many friends, and at the end of the school day, me and Daddy are gonna take you to the studio. And you can listen to me sing.”

She pulls back and looks at me, and I gently wipe the tears off her cheeks. “Really?” she peeps. “We going to the studio?”

I nod. “And we can have whatever you want for dinner. ‘Cause it’s your special day.” 

She sniffles and wipes her nose with the back of her hand. “Super spicy something?” she asks. 

I snort and say, “Sure.” 

“Grace, would you like to come join us?” the teacher asks. 

Gracie looks over her shoulder to the teacher, then back to me. “It’s not Grace. It’s Gracie,” she murmurs, quietly so only I can hear. 

“Tell her, then,” I say, nodding her along. 

She looks into my eyes for a long moment, then turns around with newfound confidence to say, “My name is Gracie.”

…

“You think she did okay?” 

It’s been the longest day of my life. Jesse just came to pick me up from the studio, where I’ve been working on a new song with Khaled. Nothing hit right, so I’m glad we’re going back after we pick up the kid. I couldn’t get her sad little face out of my mind, literally I thought about nothing else all day. And I  _ worried _ like hell. I haven’t worried like that since she was first born. 

“She’s a little badass,” Jesse answers. “She came from you. So, of course she did okay. She did great.” 

“I hope so.” 

“I know so.” 

“You know, sometimes you’re overbearingly confident,” I say, rolling my eyes while laughing. 

“I’m choosing to take that as a compliment,” he says, as we pull up to the school. 

We wait outside with the other parents - LA parents, so the fact that I’m somewhat well-known doesn’t catch their attention in the slightest - and wait for the kids to come out. Once the bell rings, the doors burst open and the crowd comes careening out, and Jesse and I strain to find the only one we care about. 

“Mama, Daddy!” 

I’d know that voice anywhere. 

Almost before I can register the sound, Gracie throws herself into my arms. I lift her from the ground and spin her around, smiling into her hair, and Jesse envelops us both in a huge hug.

“Group hug!” he announces. 

“Let’s go, let’s go!” Gracie says, pulling on our hands once I let her down. “Studio, studio, studio!” 

“Hold up, cowboy!” Jesse says. “How was your first day? Give me something to work with here.” 

“Good! Can we go now?”

He rolls his eyes as we get in the car, Gracie buckling herself in all on her own. Before he puts the car in drive, Jesse turns around with his eyebrows up. 

“I need details,” he says. 

“Daddy…” she says, sounding a lot like me. 

“It was your first day without us!” I say, backing him up. “You have to tell us everything.” 

She sighs, resting an elbow on her thigh and her chin on a closed fist. “Okay. We did lots of saying hi and people’s names and stuff. And fun facts. And we sitted on the rug and talked about weathers. And we readed some books, and taked a nap. Then we did recess on the playground. I made like, fifty hundred friends on that place ‘cause I’m the best at hide and seek. Then we comed inside and did more books. And then you picked me up! See?” 

“Sounds like a great day,” Jesse says. “Think you’re gonna like it?” 

“Maybe,” she says, kicking her feet against the car seat. “Can we go to Mama’s studio now?”

…

“Jess, can you maybe keep her away from the three-thousand dollar mic?” 

I pull the headphones off and rest them on my shoulders, watching my husband and daughter play through the clear glass window. There’s a spare mic out there that I was using earlier, but I switched it out for the one I’m using now. If Khaled saw Gracie’s hands all over that thing, I might be dead.

Jesse switches on the intercom to say, “But she’s a star!” 

I scoff lightly and reply with, “That’s cute, but I really don’t want to get us kicked out.” 

“Fine, fine,” he says, and gathers Gracie in his arms to plop her on his lap. “Go again! We wanna hear it again.” 

“Alright.” 

I put the headphones back on and start the song over, my eyes darting over to the two watching me intently. I can’t help but smile when I meet their eyes, keeping the warm feeling it gives me safe inside my chest. 

I’m almost to the bridge when Jesse interrupts through the intercom again. 

“We should name our next daughter Grammy,” he says. 

I close my eyes for a moment, take off the headphones, and sigh deeply. “You just ruined that track, you know. And that’s a horrible name.” 

“Oh, come on.”

“And what makes you think I’m having more of your children?”

He laughs to himself, lifts Gracie by her armpits, and peers around her to say, “This face.”

…

For dinner, Jesse makes us butternut squash coconut curry, which is always a hit with the little one. He adds extra curry because she loves it spicy, and she goes crazy. We have a good night, the three of us, and I lay with Gracie for a bit while she falls asleep and Jesse cleans up the kitchen. When he comes to get me, I’ve almost dozed off myself, so I’m glad he caught me before I could.

“We officially have a kid in school,” I say, flopping down on the bed with my arms out wide. “And I’m officially old.” 

“Shut your mouth,” he says. “You are not old.” 

“You have to say things like that.”

“I don’t,” he says, and I hear him walk over with my eyes closed. The mattress depresses as he crawls towards me from the bottom, and he latches his fingers around the waistband of my sweatpants. “But I love you, and you are not old.” 

“Hmmmm,” I hum, lifting my hips so he can get my pants off more easily. 

He throws them to the side and pushes my shirt up, and I lift my arms so he’ll take it off. Pretty soon, I’m completely naked and he’s worshiping my body with his lips, one of his hands finding a good grip on my waist and the other on a bare breast.

“You know what I said about kids earlier,” he murmurs, lips moving against my neck. 

I wrap one leg around him to pull his waist down, flush against mine. I feel his hard-on through his lounge pants, and I want it closer. 

“Mm-hmm.” 

“What do you really think about that?” he asks, tugging my underwear off. 

“I think…” I say, throwing my head to one side. “If it happens, it happens… we don’t have to plan one way or the other.” 

“Yeah?” 

I nod, carding my fingers through his thick hair. 

“Mmm, my wife wants to have my baby. Again,” he says, planting one knee on either side of my hips. 

“I’ll take it back if you keep saying shit like that,” I threaten, holding his head tight between my hands. 

He giggles - Jesse is the only man who I’ve ever allowed to giggle - and kisses me hard. “Yes, ma’am,” he says. 

I roll my eyes lightly when I say, “You taste like curry.”

He pushes inside me a few moments later and takes his time with my body. I wrap my arms around his neck and bury my face in the crook of his shoulder, tightening my legs around his thighs while he rocks into me. I keep my voice low, panting mostly, while he kisses the side of my sweaty face. 

He lets me come first, but I keep clinging to him until he goes, too. And when he does, he only collapses on me for a short moment before pulling out and kissing his way down my body without bothering to clean either of us up. 

“What are you…” I breathe, chest still heaving.

“Going down on my perfect, beautiful, amazing wife,” he says, dropping open-mouthed kisses on my thighs. 

“Shut,” I pant. “Your mouth.” 

“Mmm… I think you want me to open my mouth,” he corrects. 

I stifle my laughter, and it completely disappears from my throat when he covers me with his tongue and pushes two fingers inside at the same time. At first, it feels amazing like it always does, and I let myself get lost in what he can do to me. 

But then, that feeling changes. 

“Shit,” I say, as the burning starts.

He keeps licking me though, thinking that my expletive came from feelings of pleasure. He continues to move his fingers, going at me even harder, when it starts to feel like I’m on fire down there. 

“Hey!” I shriek. “Whoa!”

“That good, huh,” he murmurs, lips moving against my heat. 

“Wha- no! Jesus, shit! Jesse!” 

He pulls away, wiping his mouth haphazardly while looking at me with a confused expression. “What’s going on?” he says.

“Holy shit!” I say, and scramble off the bed. “Did you… you didn’t brush your teeth or wash your hands, did you?” 

I hurry into the bathroom just as he’s sitting up. “From what?” he calls. 

“The curry, idiot!” 

As I turn on the faucet, I’m pretty sure I hear him murmur, “Oh, shit.” 

He comes into the bathroom a few seconds later, peering around the door to find me trying to stop the heat with a drenched washcloth, standing in the empty tub. “You’ve cauterized me,” I say, without looking up. He snorts. “It’s not funny! I’m probably infertile now.” 

“I’m sorry, babe, I’m sorry.”

“Ah-ah-ah, no endearing pet names right now, no,” I say. “Not while my vagina is on fire, no way.”

“ _ Babe _ …” he says, drawing out the word as he saunters over. “I’ll brush my teeth. At least let me finish what I started.” 

I look up, still hunched over in an awkward position. “Keep dreaming,” I say. “And good luck knocking me up again now that I have a hot sauce vag.” 

He starts laughing, and I can’t help but join in. 

…

About a month later, Jesse and I are trying to coax Gracie into the school building as she fights us tooth and nail.

“No, no, no, no, no!” she wails, plopping down on the concrete with her legs straight out in front of her. “I don’t wanna go. No school!” 

“Yes, school,” I say. “We go to school every day. That’s how it works.”

“Not me!” she insists. 

“Gracie Clare,” I say, attempting to pull her to a standing position only to have her slump back down, gone boneless. “Listen to me. You have to get inside. The bell’s gonna ring, and you’re gonna be late. You don’t want that, do you?” 

“I don’t care!” 

I look to Jesse, at a loss. He purses his lips and squats down next to her, taking the heat. “GC,” he says. “What’s bothering you? You love school. There’s gotta be something going on.” 

She clamps her lips shut tight and makes a stubborn sound. “Hmph.” 

“Gracie,” he says, fixing her hair and curling it behind one ear. “You can tell Daddy.” 

She crosses her arms, though the skin of her face loosens. Her eyes grow glassy, and I can see the signs that she’s about to cry long before it happens. 

“We can talk,” he says, sitting down more comfortably with his legs crossed. “Just me and you.”

Her arms fall to her sides, and she looks up at me for validation. But as she does, her gaze catches on something - or someone - else, and her expression totally changes. She scrambles up from her spot on the cement and clings to Jesse’s chest, wrapping her arms around his neck and hiding her face in his button-up shirt.

“What is it?” he asks. 

I turn to look where she’d been staring and see a little boy and his mother headed into the school. “Gracie,” I say. “Is that boy mean to you?” 

“He pinches me,” she says. “And he hitted me before.”

Rage explodes throughout my entire body hearing that, and my face heats up immediately. It feels like it might blow off. 

“Bec,” Jesse says, a warning. 

“No,” I say, already heading towards the boy and his mother. “He’s gonna keep his hands off our daughter. Wait here.” 

“Bec!” 

“Hey,” I say, my heels clicking against the ground with each step. The woman turns around, an impatient expression on her face, and I realize she has a good six inches on me. It doesn’t matter, though. “Your son has been bullying my little girl.” 

She narrows her eyes at me. “Excuse me?” she says. 

“You heard me,” I say. “Your son has been picking on my daughter. Physically bullying her. She’s scared to go inside because of him.” 

She looks to the boy. “Michael, go inside.”

He obeys her, and I’m glad for it. My problem starts with her; it always stems from the parents. He’s only suffering from what she’s supplied him with. 

“Something needs to be done about it,” I say, then it dawns on me, where the bruises on Gracie’s arms have been coming from. She’s a kid who falls a lot, so I never thought twice about it, and now I feel like the worst mother ever. It makes my stomach twist and boil. “He’s hurting my child!” 

“Michael would never,” she says, icy cold.

“Well, Michael did!” I say, letting my voice raise when I normally wouldn’t. I feel out of control with anger, like I might fly off the handle at any moment. “He hurt my baby, and I’m not just gonna sit here and take it. You better get a grip on your bitch of a son before I get a grip on his bitch of a mother!” 

“Hey, hey, hey, okay!” Jesse says, and suddenly he’s right at my side. “Bec, go wait in the car.” 

“No, I’m not-” 

“Beca. Wait in the car,” he says, and when I look at him his eyes are wide and serious. 

I know I’ve done too much. Gone too far. And he’s here to reel me back in. 

“I’m gonna go talk with the principal,” he says. “And get everyone’s side of the story. And I will be right back.” 

“Okay,” I say, forcing the word out. “Okay.”

He lays a hand on the small of my back and it helps me release the breath that’s stuck in my throat. “Okay,” he says, softer now.

I walk stiffly to the car and get in. I grab my knees once I’m sitting down and bend over slightly, closing my eyes as they burn with furious tears. No one ever stood up for me when I was a kid, and one of the many promises I made myself was that I’d never let that happen for Gracie. She’d always know that I was on her side, no matter what. I told myself I’d never let anyone hurt her, and without my knowledge, someone did. I should’ve known sooner. I should’ve picked up on the signs. I was part of the problem in letting that little shit get away with it. 

I cover my face with my hands as a few tears leak out, then wipe them away brusquely with my palms. I need to see her and tell her I’m sorry, that’s all I want right now. I’m just about to get out and head into the school when I see Jesse exiting the front doors, heading towards the car to join me.

When he gets in, he sighs loudly. 

“I wanna see her,” I say. 

“No, no,” he says. “She’s in class now.” 

“With that little monster?!” 

“No,” he says. “I got it figured out. Turns out, a few other kids have complained about him, too. He’s switching rooms. She won’t have to be around him anymore, and she’s fine. I told her we could talk about it tonight.” 

“Was she crying?” 

He shakes his head. “Nope.” 

“Good,” I say, relaxing against my seat. I close my eyes and my mind swims, thoughts so loud that I can’t hear a single one. “Sorry for… blowing up.”

“No need to apologize,” he says, and overlaps my hand where it rests on my thigh. “That’s our baby girl.” 

“Yeah,” I say, opening my eyes to look at him. I bite my lip and decide to just say it, to just let it out. “And you know how I get when I’m pregnant.”

It takes a second to sink in, but when it does, his eyes widen in shock. He blinks hard and leans forward, eyebrows furrowing. “Again?” he asks, incredulous. 

I nod solidly. There’s no mistaking six tests. “Again.” 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fast forward in time to where Gracie Clare is five years old and there's a brand new member of the Mitchell-Swanson household. How will everyone adapt?

With a new baby in the house, it goes without saying that I don’t get much sleep. The smallest sound - any noise at all - will wake me. Where I used to sleep like the dead, now what I do barely counts as sleeping. More like waiting. So, when I hear my daughter’s raspy whisper right next to my ear, I jolt awake with a racing heart. 

“Mommy…” she says, and when I open my eyes, she’s standing right there. Gracie Clare is only wearing a pair of underwear and a tank top - matching, at least - but since her little brother came home, none of us have bothered getting anything close to fancy. I don’t think I’ve put on a bra for at least a week. Luckily, it’s the middle of summer, or else I’m sure her school outfits would be taking a hit. “Mommy.”

I inhale sharply, her blue eyes blinking right into mine, those eyelashes a mile long. “Baby, what is it,” I say groggily. “Where’s your dad?” 

“In the kitchen,” she answers. “But mommy, I have a very important question.” 

I blink hard, still trying to orient myself with the world and the five-year-old standing in front of me. “Yeah,” I say. 

“Where did Max live before us?” she asks.

“Huh?” I say, half asleep. 

“Mommy,” she says insistently, jostling my shoulder. “Where did Maxie come from?”

Then, I realize what she’s asking. Throughout my entire pregnancy, she hadn’t asked the million dollar question that Jesse and I both thought she would. We waited the entire nine months for her to wonder about it, though we had no idea how to answer. I guess since the baby’s been born, her curiosity hasn’t been on my mind as much. 

“Babe…I…” I say, then hear the familiar fussy cry on the baby monitor. “We’ll have to talk later, okay?” 

“But Momma…” she says, trailing after me as I get up and make my way to the nursery. “I wanna know  _ now _ .” 

“Now isn’t the best time,” I say, lifting Max out of his crib. He quiets down as soon as he’s in my arms, even more so when I sit in the rocking chair to feed him. “Go talk to your daddy. I’m sorry, GC. My mind is really messy at the moment.” 

She stomps one foot and lets out a huffy sigh, then pounds her way out of the room and down the stairs. I let out a long breath and let my head rest against the back of the chair, rocking slowly as Max nurses. A few other moms at Gracie’s school warned me that she might go through a difficult transition period after the baby was born, but I hadn’t listened. She’s always been such an easy kid, so I didn’t expect anything to change. I wouldn’t say that she’s become a different person over the course of a week, but she’s definitely more sensitive and seeking attention in ways she never has before. I can’t blame her; she’s only five, but it does get exhausting. 

I smile at the little brunette in my arms, though, and feel calmer as I look at him. He reminds me a lot of his sister when she was this tiny, but I’m definitely not as scared this time around. Everything feels much more stable. “You’ll get used to things around here, little guy,” I say, stroking the shell of his ear with my fingertip. “Just wait and see.” 

…

Later that night, the four of us are at the dining room table eating dinner that Jesse prepared. I have the baby in a sling on my chest as he sleeps, and Gracie is on her knees in the chair across from me, picking at her noodles with a plastic fork. 

“Want me to take Max so you can eat?” Jesse asks. 

“No, it’s okay,” I tell him. “Don’t wanna wake him up.” 

“I do,” Gracie says, then takes a big breath like she’s about to either scream or yell or both. 

“GC,” Jesse says sternly, and she closes her mouth right away - pressing her lips together so hard they turn white. “No.” 

“He wakes  _ me _ up all the time,” she says. “So that means it’s fair.” 

“He’s a baby,” Jesse says. “He doesn’t know any better. Remember what we said before he was born? That he was gonna cry and sleep and be stinky a lot of the time?” 

“He’s not even fun.” 

“Not yet,” Jesse says. “But he will be. Give it a few months, and you guys will be playing together all the time.” 

“Nuh-uh,” she says. “He’s not gonna touch any of my toys and he’s never, ever coming in my room.” 

“That’s not very nice,” I say. “Gracie.”

She crosses her arms and juts out her chin, glaring at me in a way I’ve never seen her do. Something about her expression reminds me of myself and I can’t help but wonder if I ever looked at my mother like that. I probably did. I wish I could take it back. 

“He’s just a baby,” I say. 

“All he needs right now is for you to love him,” Jesse says. 

“Well, I don’t,” she says, still pouting. She takes a fistful of wet noodles from her plate, hops up from her chair, and before I can register what she’s doing, she deposits them right onto Max’s little head.

“Gracie!” I say, shocked. 

The baby flinches awake as he notices the strange substance on his skin, and Gracie runs off as Jesse gets up and begins to pick noodles off of our crying baby’s face. “Oh, buddy,” he says, gathering them in his cupped palm. “We’re not even Italian.” 

I stifle a laugh and look up at him. “Shut up,” I say, and he gives me a kiss on the forehead before going to throw the noodles away. It only takes a bit of shushing and rocking to get Max back to sleep, but that isn’t the problem. “Why is she acting like this?” I ask Jesse, desperately. “I didn’t even know she was capable of something like that.”

“I know,” he says, rubbing his temples. “She’s jealous. That’s pretty obvious.” 

“Yeah.” 

“We should talk to her.”

“Yeah,” I say, then glance at our sleeping son. “Let me put him down real quick. I think it’d be best if it was just the three of us.” 

“Probably,” Jesse says, then gently kisses Max’s noodle-free head when I stand up. “Night, buddy. See you at some unholy time in the middle of the night.” 

After I get Max settled in his crib, I come back to the kitchen to find it all cleaned up and Jesse waiting to approach Gracie as a united front. “This is weird,” I say. “Why am I nervous? It feels like we’re about to go talk to a teenager.” 

“A three-nager,” he says.

“Ha.” 

We get to her door to find it open a crack, but Jesse knocks anyway. “GC,” he says. “It’s us. We need to talk.” 

“I know already I’m in trouble,” she says, voice muffled. When we go inside, I see it’s because she’s buried under her covers. I wonder how long she’s been like that. If she’s as similar to me as I’ve always thought, she’s probably been in that hole for quite a while. 

“We wanna talk about it,” Jesse says, always so much better with words than me. “We wanna talk about what you’re feeling and maybe why you’re feeling like that. You know you can always talk to us, right?” 

She pushes the covers back and unearths her face, flushed from the heat and lack of oxygen. “Nuh-uh,” she says, glowering. 

“What do you mean?” I say, pulling up a tiny chair from her table. “Yes, you can. Always.” 

“No, not always,” she says. “Not when the dumb baby’s in the way. He ruins everything. Before him, it was just me and you. Now, you forget about me all the time. And you don’t even care.” 

“Gracie, that is not true,” I say. 

“We love you so much,” Jesse says. “You’ll always be our first.” 

“First the worst, second the best!” she insists, frowning. “Everybody knows that. You like him better than me.” 

“No, no,” I say, then we get interrupted by the sound of a jet flying overhead - a common noise given that we live only a few miles west of the airport. Something strange comes across Gracie’s face - a mixture of anticipation and fright, maybe - as she rockets up from her bed, through the hall, down the stairs, then out the front door. “Gracie!” I shout, shooting Jesse a confused look. “Where are you going?” 

“Shit,” Jesse says, trailing behind me as I follow in our daughter’s footsteps. When I get downstairs, the front door is thrown open and she’s standing on the porch, staring up at the sky with arms outstretched. 

“What in the world are you doing?” I ask, snatching her up and out of the cold. 

“You have to catch them!” she says, fighting my grip. But I get her inside and Jesse locks the door before she can get far. 

“Catch who?” I ask, at a total loss. 

She looks at me like I’m stupid. “The  _ babies _ ,” she says. “Daddy said airplanes drop them. And when an airplane flies right over your house, it means you’re gonna get one in your tummy. That’s how Max got to us.” 

“Wait…” I say, eyebrows knitting together. “What?” 

“You already know, mommy!” she says, losing patience. “You already did it with Max!” 

“No,” I say, then glance at Jesse who appears increasingly guilty. “Gracie…” 

“Daddy said!” 

“Sorry,” Jesse mutters. 

“Yeah,” I murmur in return, then lift my little girl onto my hip. “We’re gonna have to talk about this another time, babe. Right now, it’s past your bedtime. And I don’t think we need you any crankier than you are right now.”

“I’m not cranky and I want to know the real true truth,” she says matter-of-factly. 

“The true truth can wait,” I say firmly, in a tone that makes her listen. “It isn’t going anywhere. But right now, it’s time for little girls to get in bed. We’ll all do better tomorrow.” 

…

“Seriously, Jess. You told her  _ airplanes _ . When we hear those things fly over our house at least five times a day!” 

“I panicked!” he says, splashing water on his face as we get ready for bed. “She came skipping in and asked me the question like she was asking what’s for lunch. I didn’t know what to say.”

“So, you thought of the stupidest answer possible.” 

“Okay, I admit it wasn’t my finest moment,” he says. 

I sigh and lean forward, elbows on my knees. “I’m sorry,” I say. “I’m not mad. I’m just… I should’ve told her. But what do we tell her at five? I don’t know. I brushed her off, though, and I shouldn’t have. It’s no wonder she feels swept under the rug. I totally did that to her earlier when Max started crying.” 

“You can’t blame yourself, B,” he says. “He’s one week old. He’s allowed to be high-maintenance.” 

“Well, she is, too,” I say. “We flipped her entire life upside down. And she’s only five. She’s still little, too. I don’t wanna start treating her like a tiny adult just because she’s older. I hate it when parents do that.” 

“We won’t,” he says, wrapping an arm around my shoulders and kissing my temple. “I think we all just need time to get used to things.” 

“You’re right,” I say, sighing as I lie down. He gets in bed next to me and flicks off the light, letting out a long, slow sigh. “God, I’m tired,” I mutter.

He turns onto his side and throws an arm across my stomach, still soft with what Max left behind. I’m self-conscious, but Jesse pays it no mind. That makes me feel a little better about how my shape has changed over the years. “Go to sleep,” he says, pressing a kiss to my shoulder over my t-shirt. “I’ll take first round of baby duty.” 

“I wish,” I say, eyes closed and voice slurred. “But you don’t have what he wants.” 

“True,” he says, chuckling sleepily. “Well, I’ll get up with you, then.” 

“If you insist.” 

“I do.” 

We both fall asleep before actually saying goodnight, but it only feels like a few minutes have passed when I’m woken again. Surprisingly, it’s not by the sound of Max crying from down the hall, but an alarmingly hard poke to my arm. “Momma,” Gracie whispers hoarsely.

“Huh?” I say, sitting halfway up, propped by an elbow. “You okay?” 

“I wetted my bed,” she whimpers. The only feature I can make out is her glassy eyes - she’s been crying. 

“What?” I say, still confused. I run one hand over my face and Jesse adjusts next to me, his arm still resting across my waist. “What happened?” 

“I peed in my bed,” she says, even softer than before. 

“Hmm?” Jesse grunts, finally rousing. 

“Gracie wet the bed,” I say, trying not to let the tiredness show in my voice. 

“I didn’t mean to,” she peeps. 

“It’s okay, chickpea,” I sigh, sitting up fully. “Come on. Let’s get you cleaned up.” 

“I can help her,” Jesse says, glancing at the clock next to our bed. “You should sleep. Max still has an hour or so.” 

“I want Mommy,” Gracie says, thumb in her mouth.

I make eye contact with my husband and shrug, smiling after saying, “She wants Mommy.” I get out of bed and pick my daughter up, paying no mind to the fact that her pants are wet and slowly putting the side of my t-shirt in much of the same state. I’ve been a mother for a few years now; my own children’s bodily functions stopped grossing me out a long time ago. “Now, what happened?” I ask, brushing some hair out of her eyes as we walk down the hall. 

She rests her head on my shoulder in the way I’ve always loved. There’s just something about the weight of it that’ll always comfort me. “I woke up all wet,” she says. “I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry, momma.” 

“It’s okay,” I whisper, rubbing her back as I turn the bathroom light on. I sit on the closed toilet lid with her soft body on my lap and reach to turn the faucet on, waiting until it’s warm to put the stopper in the tub. “We’ll just give you a midnight bath and you can sleep with me and Dad tonight. Sound good? While your bedding is in the wash?” 

She nods, thumb still in her mouth, head tucked under my chin. “Midnight bath,” she says, voice a little jumbled. 

“That’s fun, right?” I say, testing the water with my free hand. 

“I didn’t mean to go pee in my bed,” she says, lifting her arms as I help her out of her soiled pajamas. “I’m still a big girl, right?” 

“Of course,” I say, smoothing her hair and looking at her for a long moment. “Always my big girl.” I nod towards the water. “I think it’s ready for you, babe.”

Gracie gets in, moving the suds around with her hands as I pour a cup of warm water over her head. She tips her chin up and closes her eyes, letting the water slick her hair down, and we just sit quietly together as she rinses off. A few moments later, I hear footsteps and turn to see Jesse leaning on the doorframe, cradling a fussy Max. 

“Changed him,” he says. “Now, he’s asking for you.” 

“Oh,” I say, extending my arms to take the baby. “Come here, little man.” 

I pull down the neck of my shirt and Max latches easily as Jesse gets comfortable on the floor next to the tub, resting his arm on the lip. He runs the ends of Gracie’s wet hair through his fingers and lays his cheek on his upper arm, watching her as she pats the bubbles. “Babies don’t really come from airplanes, right?” she says quietly.

“No, they don’t,” Jesse answers. 

“But why did you say it?” she asks. 

He sighs softly, still touching her hair. As I watch them, I stroke Max’s cheek and wonder how Jesse will navigate through this touchy subject. I know whatever he says will be right; but I’d have no idea how to fill the silence. I’m glad she addressed him and not me. “Because…” he begins. “You asked a complicated question, but you’re too little for the complicated answer.” He taps the top of her head. “Sometimes, you’re too smart for your own good.”

“Like Mommy,” she says, eyes sparkling in my direction. 

“Uh-huh,” Jesse says. 

“But what if you made the answer not complicated?” Gracie continues. “You could maybe make it easy.” 

“Hmm…” he says, pressing his lips together. “Well, I can tell you this for sure. Babies don’t come from airplanes, or storks, or anything crazy like that. Mommy made Max in her tummy. He grew inside her for nine whole months, then came out to be with us. All babies start out like that. And Max, just like all the other babies in the world, was made from love.”

“Love?” Gracie says, eyebrows furrowed. “How?” 

Jesse looks at her, his brown eyes on her blue. “He just was,” he says.

She holds onto the answer for a beat, then nods surely, saying, “Okay.” Then, she looks up. At first, I think she’s looking at me, but she has her eyes on her brother instead. “Sorry for dropping noodles on your head at dinner,” she murmurs, clearly ashamed.

“He says thank you,” I tell her, smiling softly. “GC, I want you to know that it probably won’t be easy while Max is really little. He needs a lot of mine and Daddy’s attention because he can’t do anything for himself yet.” 

“I know,” she says gently. 

“But I also want you to know that you’re still allowed to need me,” I say, reaching over to cup her chin. “You’re little, too. If you’re having a bad day, you can still act like a baby. That’s totally okay. I’m never gonna be mad at you for that.” 

She smiles with her eyes and they crinkle at the corners. “Okay,” she says. 

Then, Jesse pipes up. “Can I act like a baby?” he asks. 

I roll my eyes playfully and nudge him with my foot. I tell him, “No,” and Gracie’s laugh fills up the whole room. 


End file.
